


You Take It Black, Right?

by searchforthescars



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Canon-Typical Behavior, F/F, tltexchange2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchforthescars/pseuds/searchforthescars
Summary: Gideon and Harrow strike up a tentative friendship over coffee drinks and a duel. Inspired by a multitude of Tik Tok POVs in which the barista provides new drinks to favorite regulars in an attempt to flirt.ForMagichorsefor the Locked Tomb Holiday Exchange. Happy holidays!
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 7
Kudos: 87





	You Take It Black, Right?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Magichorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magichorse/gifts).



> I was given the prompt "Anything set in the coffeeshop AU" so I went nuts - hope you have fun reading!

“Your collar is flipped down.”

Harrow glares even as she smooths the fabric down. “Thank you,” she says primly.

Gideon - because yes, her name is  _ Gideon _ , as absurd as it sounds - merely flashes her a smile. “Why so serious, gloom mistress?”

“This is how I always am.”

“Sure, Harrow. Okay.” Gideon passes her a cup - as always, Harrow jerks her hand away before their fingers can brush as they did on the day of their meeting - and it only takes Harrow one sip to realize this is not her usual drink.

“This isn’t black coffee,” she says, accusatory. 

Gideon smiles, that stupid lopsided grin that makes her look like a child and not like a Cohort officer, which she technically is despite all the flagrant rule-flouting she engages in on the daily. “No, it’s not, my lady of darkness. I figured you might be open to trying something black-adjacent. As a treat.”

Harrow takes another sip, nose wrinkling involuntarily at the sharp taste. “What  _ is  _ this?”

“Black coffee and cinnamon.”

“Why?”

Gideon merely shrugs and tosses a cloth over her shoulder. “Why not?”

Harrow considers snapping out an answer but decides it’s not really going to do any good. She can feel those irritating gold eyes following her out, and it takes little effort to not turn around.

* * *

“This had better be black coffee,” Harrow says, taking the cup’s lid off and staring down into its dark depths. Gideon’s face hovers just in her periphery, face the picture of blank contriteness.

Harrow doesn’t know why she’s surprised when the taste that hits her tongue isn’t just slightly-burned coffee straight from the carafe. “ _ Gideon _ .”

“It’s a pour-over with a little bit of sugar and a different roast than usual,” Gideon says, holding her hands up in defense. “Takes the bite out of a more bitter roast… I may have overdone it just a little.”

The taste of sugar isn’t unpleasant, per se, but it does knock Harrow off her axis a little. She’s too distracted by the lingering bittersweetness on her tongue that she nearly jumps when Gideon slides her something across the bar.

“It’s a pastry, Nonageezy,” Gideon says. “Try it. It’s biscotti, but it’s not too sweet. Dip it in the coffee.”

Instead, Harrow tips it into the trash on her way out. If Gideon is offended, she doesn’t say anything.

* * *

“It’s just black. Promise.”

Harrow looks up at Gideon when she pushes the cup forward. In a strange twist, Gideon doesn’t say anything. Her fingers tremble when she adjusts her apron and, despite herself, Harrow asks, “What happened?”

She was further justified in asking this question, she thinks, when Gideon turns her head, revealing a blackened eye and a cut over her cheekbone. “Got in a fight.”

“Wh- Why?” Harrow blurts before she can stop herself.

“I don’t just do this, you know.” Gideon gestures at the bar, wincing when her shoulder cracks and pops. “I wanted to spar. It didn’t go well.”

Her pride is hurt. Harrow feels something that isn’t exactly sadness, but somewhere close. She doesn’t say anything; she merely takes her coffee and walks away, frowning when the liquid tastes like bitter copper, not harsh comfort.

* * *

“What do you recommend?”

Harrow doesn’t know exactly why she feels the need to ask, only that something about her last interaction with Gideon has been gnawing at the edges of her mind. It’s been about a month, if she’s got her days right, and she’s left and come back twice now - once on deployment and once on leave - without speaking to the other woman.

“Huh?” Gideon asks eloquently, hand frozen above the espresso bean bag. Thankfully, this time, her face is void of bruising and her shoulders have lost some of that tension.

“What do you recommend?” Harrow repeats, slowly. “Come on. After months of giving me different beverages to try, you’re suddenly at a loss?”

This, at least, seems to shake Gideon from her stupor. “Uh...okay. Sure. One minute.”

This time, for the first time, Harrow watches. She watches as Gideon’s forearm muscles flex and strain against the manual espresso press; her mouth goes dry every time those amber eyes flick up to meet hers before focusing anew on the milk she’s frothing, and when Gideon slides the cup - sans lid - across to Harrow, there’s a shit-eating grin on her face.

“What- Is that a skull?”

Gideon nods. “A jawless one. Isn’t that the symbol of your House?”

Harrow carefully picks the cup up, cradling it in her hands. She’s oddly touched by this simple, albeit clumsy gesture. “Why?”

Gideon shrugs with one shoulder “Why not?”

* * *

“Harrow! Wait up!”

She’s so startled by the shout of her name that she freezes, though she doesn’t turn around until Gideon makes her presence known by putting her hand on Harrow’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you just...out here,” she finishes lamely, then takes her hand from Harrow. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing?”

Gideon shoves her hands in her pockets. “There’s a duel going on. I wanted to go see.”

“You’re shirking your responsibilities...for a duel?”

“I’m not just good for making coffee, you know. I have other talents. Most notably with a sword.” She says that last part with a salacious waggle of her eyebrows, which Harrow ignores. “What are you doing?”

“Going back to my bunk. For prayers.”

“Come on. Live a little. Come watch with me.”

Harrow doesn’t look up at those earnest eyes, and she certainly doesn’t angle her body toward Gideon before starting to walk again. “Fine. Keep up then.”

Gideon’s whoop of glee echoes through the hall in a decidedly undignified manner. Harrow disregards the bubble in her chest that fills, then bursts, because of it.

The training room Harrow has passed by occasionally is crammed to bursting with all manner of necromancers and cavaliers, some in uniform and others in civilian clothes. Gideon edges her way through the crowd to find a spot at the front; Harrow trails behind hopelessly, flinching every time someone touches her, until Gideon pulls her forward by the wrist to stand beside her.

“Sorry,” Gideon whispers, “I didn’t know you don’t like crowds.”

Harrow says nothing. What do you say to that level of consideration?

The duel in question is between the cavalier primary of the Third House and a military officer of the Second. Within moments, the Second House officer makes quick work of the boy, who Harrow always privately believed to be a sniveling brat. This assumption is furthered by the fact that, when he loses, he doesn’t stride off the floor but instead points to someone just out of sight.

Harrow expects silence or general applause. What she doesn’t expect is for Gideon to whistle loudly through her teeth and cheer.

The woman who steps forward isn’t that much older than Harrow, with blunt-cut hair and a look on her face that suggests she wants nothing more than to bash the Third cavalier’s brains in. Gideon looks like she wants to burst from her skin with delight. Harrow says, warily, “Do you...know her?”

“That’s Camilla Hect. I want to be her someday.” Gideon says that last part a little wistfully. Harrow doesn’t know what to do with the jealousy suddenly nagging at her brain. “She’s the best fighter out of the Sixth, despite not even being an Alexandrite. Her necro-”

“Nav!” the Third cavalier interrupts. “Shut up!”

“Then get on with it, Tern,” Gideon yells back. “Or do you want me to keep talking so you have an excuse for why you’re such a loser?”

Tern says nothing. Camilla Hect gives Gideon an inscrutable stare, to which Gidon replies, “Fuck him  _ up _ , Hect!”

Harrow doesn’t remember the resolution of the fight. She knows only that she thinks this strange girl with the Ninth House name might have the best smile she’s ever seen.

* * *

“Let me guess,” Gideon says, breaking Harrow out of her own thoughts, “you still just want black coffee?”

It’s been a whole six months since that first conversation. Harrow can’t help but recall the Fourth teens’ chatter, Gideon’s arresting eyes, the way their fingers had brushed. There’s a knot in her gut that feels almost comforting, in that it’s also supremely terrifying.

“Surprise me, Nav.”

Gideon’s eyes nearly hit her hairline. “What?”

“You heard me.” Harrow feels her lips twist up into a smile. “Go on. I won’t ask again.”

This time, when their fingers brush as Gideon hands her the cup, Harrow doesn’t pull away.

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own, so pls roast me like you'd roast espresso beans ;) Thanks for reading!


End file.
